America is in a collective tizzy right now. Half of them are drenching their knee-highs to photos of celebrity exposed titties, the other half are penning lamentations on Yahoo and Huffington Post about societal decay. The big cellphone camera leak. I mean, not leak, we’re supposed to call it grand larceny and conspiracy to reveal snatch to make it sound more threatening. Last century we had the Holocaust. This century, the hacking of celebrity phones to see Kirsten Dunst titties. One thing the Internet has not provided us as a society is perspective.

I’ve seen every single picture that was made available. I feel oddly not guilty. When I see people peering up at the sky, I look up at the sky. If I look up and I see Kate Upton’s giant magical boobs, I’m going to yell for my buddy to tilt his eyes skyward as well. I’d like someone to share that experience with. That’s sort of gay, but it doesn’t count if you’re peeking Jennifer Lawrence’s beaver.

What are we arguing? That stealing is wrong? Of course it is. As bad as I wanted to see Victoria Justice titties, I wouldn’t break into somebody’s house to see them. Maybe I’d jiggle the front door handle a few times. Are we not supposed to look when this shit comes out? Everybody has their prurient passions. I wait full stop on the freeway many days here because people just have to peek at the ambulance taking away the guy who thought motorcycles were a good idea on a road full of distracted SUVs. Is watching a bloodied motorcyclist less prurient than staring at the absolutely wonderful minge on Krysten Ritter?

Celebrities are the usual target of these hackers for the simple fact that nobody gives a fuck about your grandmother. I’m not going to tell famous people to stop taking pictures of themselves grabbing their naked bits on the off chance they be stolen some day. We can’t let the terrorists win. I’d encourage more. And bring in some stagecraft like swings and Go-Pros mounted to the taint and well-endowed Guatemalan men. You’re in the entertainment business for fuck’s sake. Don’t give me duck face selfies in the toilet.

For all the legal claim hyperbole, celebrities have never been professionally harmed by the release of their nude and sexually explicit private content. Some have built TV and merchandising empires off of just that. It’s unfortunate that some people think just because you employ your sexuality and titties as part of your professional endeavors that you somehow deserve to have less rights to privacy in your personal time. You’re not supposed to follow the strippers home. Most men get this. The others ought be locked up.

Respectfully, I’d ask that we separate the criminals from the rest of us who just want to see Verlander finish with a two-seamer on Kate Upton’s shoulder. When the rest of the world gives up voyeur TV and cable news coverage of missing hot college girls and sharing office gossip and listening to their neighbors fighting or fucking and accidentally looking at their boyfriend’s phone for texts, then I’ll put down the Jennifer Lawrence nudes. Until then, fuck you, you self-righteous rule makers. My penis has the God-given right to be happy.

Krysten Ritter seems like a hot chick who has a thing about looking like a trainable. I surmise with my little brain that some women get off knowing that they can go Daffy Duck and every dude still wants a piece. There’s no comparison in the male world because when dudes look retarded, it’s never intentional. They’re just retarded. Men don’t dress down or fuck with their hair or make goofy faces to keep women from mentally undressing them. There’s only two roles in the male world, alpha and bitch, and you don’t want to be a bitch. Women like Krysten Ritter can afford to fuck around in the gray areas because she could be bathing in a tub full of discharged enemas and with the snap of her fingers ten dudes would dive in head first to try and get some. That’s real power.